Too young to die

By: Debbie Moore-Black, RN

My mother. 63 years old. Colon cancer.
She first noticed rectal bleeding. She made excuses. Maybe it’s hemorrhoids.

She put her physician on a pedestal. He said “you’re too young to die” and there was no need for further tests.

Her daughters, both RN’s (one an ICU nurse, the other an anesthetist) pleaded with her to get a colonoscopy. She refused.
Pleaded with her to get a second opinion.
She refused.
Her once plump body shrunk as she drastically began losing weight.

Her brothers flew in from New Jersey to visit her. They told her she looked great. And her response was “I’m too young to die”

We hired a hospice nurse for her. Mom would go in and out of comas. She was dying. Us daughters would help.
I would help turn and reposition my mother. Clean her bowel movements in bed.
Mostly an act of guilt, feeling that I was supposed to do this. Feeling obligated.

While remembering my painful past.

She was a negligent mother. A narcissist. Undiagnosed mental illness I suppose.

We lived in the big house but the inside told the secrets. The secrets of her neglect and failure to clothe us children while she wore designer clothes.

The secrets of my dad climbing the corporate ladder all along bumping into walls after he drank his daily gallon of wine.
Losing our lake house. Daddy losing both jobs because of his alcoholism. We were told he was taking an “early retirement”.
As I cleaned my mother, the memories flooded back.
The lies. The neglect.

She died at the age of 63 years old.
Yes. I also always felt she was “too young to die.”
I always wondered: “What if?”
What IF she had gotten a second opinion and went to another physician?
What IF she had listened to her 2 nurse daughters.
What IF she had been proactive?

A colectomy eventually was performed. But her colon cancer had frantically spread. Liver, pancreas, lungs.

Too young to die.
Too little, too late.

Denial and a long wait to face the truth.

Dad gave her the grande funeral.
The mahogany casket.
Large photos of her with her “Jackie Kennedy-like” hairdos.
As her casket lowered to the ground. A still and hot sunny day, a wind gust through. I guess that was her final goodbye.

The grande funeral that left me thinking: “What If”
And I cried.
I cried for the mother I never had.

*** In retrospect….to say: “I’m too young to die” doesn’t validate anything. No one is too young to die….. especially when you are not proactive in your diagnosis and treatment and finding a physician that speaks the truth to you!!